


I Felt You In My Life Before I Ever Thought To

by Hypothetical_Warped_Spacetime



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Post S2 continuation, domestic Garcy, not really but kind of voyeuristic Wyatt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 05:13:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14867276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hypothetical_Warped_Spacetime/pseuds/Hypothetical_Warped_Spacetime
Summary: Post Season Two Finale:- - - - - - - - - - - - - -He didn't need the hatch to open- Flynn knew with every fiber of his being that she was inside. The very person that set him on this path. The ghost of a woman that has haunted him since the night she waltz into the bar and sat beside him. If the journal wasn't concrete physical evidence of her existence, of her promises, he would have assumed it was some grief riddled intoxicated delusion.





	I Felt You In My Life Before I Ever Thought To

**Author's Note:**

> Grammar errors are mine. I've been editing this for weeks, and I fear that my eyes have grown too adjusted to notice them anymore, so I apologize if some have slipped through the cracks. 
> 
>  
> 
> _Title borrowed from the lyrics of Nineteen by Hayley Williams_  
>  _Disclaimer: Own Nothing, No Profits Are Made._

_'I Felt You In My Life Before I Ever Thought To'_

* * *

His heart slammed against his ribs as if it was trying to break straight through. _Thump-thump-thumping_ in almost doubled beats, as he took long strides toward the loading dock the Lifeboat occupied. His internal alarm blaring, something was wrong. He could feel the rush of energy at his back as the rest of the group caught up to him. Just barely getting there before it materializes ahead of them, that dark grey hunk of metal-

His heart falters.

“Is this another Lifeboat?” Flynn questioned through a haze, even though he already knew the answer.

Jiya replies as she takes a spot at his side, but her words were hollowed wisps he couldn't fully grasp over the adrenaline pumping in his veins.

He didn't need the hatch to open- Flynn knew with every fiber of his being that _she_ was inside. The very person that set him on this path. The ghost of a woman that has haunted him since the night she waltz into the bar and sat beside him. If the journal wasn't concrete physical evidence of her existence, _of her promises_ , he would have assumed it was some grief riddled intoxicated delusion.

He watches as future Wyatt climbs out. Not being able to stop himself from looking down to the present versions of them right in front of him, as a sinking feeling formed in the pit of his stomach. Flynn forces himself to move past it and turn his eyesight back to the Lifeboat.

It's when his eyes catch her's that the room begins to spin; Flynn expels a breath he didn't realize he withheld.

 _“Well, what are you waiting on?”_ The future version of Wyatt said.

 _“You guys wanna get Rufus back or what?”_ future Lucy finished for him, as if they rehearsed the most precise way to tilt their world onto a new axis.

Present Lucy blanches. Her mouth dropping open and closing quickly as she turns to regard him, mouthing _is that her?_

He only acknowledges her for a second, giving a very brief nod, before gazing back to the other Lucy; because yes, while she was the woman from the bar. This one looked like a version of _Lara Croft- Sarah Connor-_ or some other female apocalyptic hero reference Rufus would have interjected had he been there to see it.

The Lucy who met him in Brazil definitely didn't look like that; she was well dressed, possibly too well dressed for the seedy atmosphere he surrounded himself in. He remembers how sorrowfully beautiful she was. How she looked like she had the weight of the entire world sitting upon her shoulders.

She had asked him to leave the bar with her, so he followed wordlessly. He was just so _tired_ of living. Tired of pissing away his life and doing _nothing_ to avenge his family. If she was Rittenhouse, if they had finally managed to locate him, if this was how he met his end- so be it.

Shockingly, instead of granting him the small mercy of certain death like he previously conceived; she forced life back into his deeply decaying body, washing away his dour thoughts.

What have they changed that caused this? Whatever the hell this even was. The team fighting in the zombie or nuclear apocalypse wasn't written in the journal.

He was as flabbergast and in the dark as the rest of the time team.

-x-

She's descending the machine; and everyone is too shocked to disrupt the stagnant silence, too stunned to put a voice to the question, _what do you mean get Rufus back?_

“Listen, we don't exactly have a world of time.” Future Wyatt states.

He's clearly agitated, over what Flynn couldn't begin to guess. There's a look of aversion that shadows over his roughened face as he bypasses the present version of himself, moving toward Jiya. “You need to get to work.” He fishes in his pocket, pulling out a flash drive that was a little worse for wear and covered in dust. Pinching it between his thumb and pointer finger, wiggling it in front of her. “Immediately.”

“Well, the future is obviously unkind to you.” Connor judged, shifting his pointer finger between present and future Wyatt; coming to Jiya's defense when the woman was too shellshocked to respond for herself. Too grief stricken to even understand what was transforming in front of her.

Flynn wondered if perhaps she thought herself trapped in one of her visions. Some alternate reality- to be honest it hardly felt real to him and he had experienced future Lucy before. Although, at the time she was just _Lucy_ , and there wasn't two of them in the same room- the effect was the same. Lucy Preston in any timeline or situation sure knew how to alter someone's perception of realism.

“Do you mind dialing down your attitude from blackhole to, let's say, perhaps, a molecule?” Connor finished, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Wyatt...” Future Lucy warned.

The man rolled his eyes before squeezing through the gap between Flynn and Jiya, moving straight into the kitchen. She huffed, pinching her lips together as she shook her head at him. “I know you guys probably have a million questions. I imagine the biggest one being how this is all possible... the flash drive will help with the _how_.”

Lucy walked until she was standing directly in front of Flynn, focused only on him, yet continuing to address the rest of the room. “I can't provide the answers to everything. Time travel rules are in place for a reason.”

He was utterly enchanted in her, observing the mixture of raw emotions filtering through her features; struggling to pick any of them apart individually. Everyone else could have faded into oblivion, leaving only them to exist in each other. Flynn wished that they would scatter away, listen to whatever _G.I. Joe Wyatt_ wanted; then maybe they wouldn't have to keep a safe distance or remain so guarded.

“Today was...” Her hand is moving on it's own volition, reaching forward absentmindedly. Seemingly forgetting herself or where they were and who was watching.

His breath hitches, shivers dancing up and down his spine at the prospect of her touch. Her palm hovered over his chest wound, merely a few millimeters away, so close that the heat of her skin could almost be felt. Before he could stop himself, before he could convince himself otherwise- he gently takes hold of her wrist and presses it where it wanted to go; _to hell with everyone watching._

Flynn's thumb caressed the sensitive skin on the underside of her wrist, before placing his palm flat over hers. Lucy's eyes close as she shifts closer, her thumb very gently mimicking the same motion he did to her wrist over his bandage. It was enough to feel but subtle enough not to hurt.

She clears her throat, slowly her eyes reopen, “It's been a long day, not only for you, but for us as well. I think it's best if we all tried to get some sleep and,-”

“Was he alive in your timeline, wherever you came from? Is he alive _right now_?” Jiya pressed, forcing Lucy out of their private spell. Whatever she was planning on saying to finish her sentence died mid thought. She pulled away from him, taking several large steps out of his personal space. Looking sympathetic, a hint of a wet glimmer swells in her eyes before she blinked it away, pointedly ignoring Jiya's dejected questions.

Lucy popped open one of her pouches on her belt, extracting a dark journal that was all too familiar to him.

“Don't lose this one okay?” She said as she held it out to him.

“Excuse me? If I remember correctly, I handed that back to _you_ , before _somebody_ else had me arrested.” He teased.

“Yeah, well, that certainly wasn't my personal plan.” She laughed lightly, both of them simultaneously glancing over at Denise who furrowed her brow.

“As if I had a choice.” Denise scorned.

“It's mostly blank, but there are some things I wrote on loose paper, tucked in somewhere, for both you and Lucy.”

“We shouldn't be talking about any of this.” present Lucy declared urgently, sheer panic causing her voice to go up several octaves. Her hands were shaking as she took an unsure step toward them, “God, this shouldn't even be possible. You both shouldn't be here, who knows what butterfly effect this could have...” she rambled on.

“We didn't have a choice. This is how it has to be. It's already been done.” future Wyatt calls from inside the kitchen as he rummaged through the cabinets. “We'll fix this as quickly as possible and move on to the next thing.”

“I think Lucy is right.” Denise cautioned. “ _Both of them_.” she added, pinching the bridge of her nose. “We should get some rest and stop talking about what the future is or was, if anything has changed. And since Wyatt is so eager for Jiya to get started. He can accompany her and Connor as they decode whatever is on that flash drive.”

“Do you think we can,” future Lucy nodded toward the corridors, reaching forward, brushing her hand down the bicep on his good arm. “I need to speak with you privately.”

“Of course.” He nodded, trying not to notice how his voice quivered or how feeble the two words were delivered.

-x-

With walls to divide them from the rest of the group, Lucy's posture relaxed significantly. The door was barely closed before she was slipping underneath his outstretched arm. His palm still resting flat against the cool metal of the bunker door as she wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face into his chest. Flynn can feel her chest as it expanded against his with a shaky inhale. Upon her exhale, he felt all the apprehension as it immediately drained from the both of them.

His hand slides off the door and closes around her, kissing the crown of her head; relishing in the content hum that escapes her. He takes a few steps back to clear them from the door and she follows him, not relenting any of the hold she had.

“Lucy,” he murmured down to her soothingly, one of her hands balling the fabric of his turtleneck at the middle of his back. “I'm okay.”

Flynn was astonished for a moment when Lucy turned her head upward. Fragile tears threatening to fall, clinging hopelessly to her dark eyelashes. No different than the way morning dew would cling to the soft petals of a wildflower or a sharp blade of grass. The rich brown growing increasingly dark; framed by a subtle pink rim that only served to enhance their beauty.

She was utterly breathtaking.

Lessening his hold on her, his hand moves across the small of her back, fingertips tracing up the nodules of her spine. Fleeting touches over her shoulder, her neck, under her jaw, eventually coming to cup her cheek. His thumb wiping away one of the stray tears that fall once she blinks slowly- pausing with her eyes closed to nuzzle into his touch.

“Garcia,” Lucy ushered his name on bated breath, her bottom lip trembling.

It's been a long time since anyone addressed him by his first name. It's been much longer since anyone has said it quite like _that_. His throat grew tight as he bent forward. She was peering up at him through heavy eyelids, tongue sweeping over her lips, obviously in anticipation of a kiss.

One that doesn't quite land where she expected. Pressing instead to the faint scar over her eyebrow.

He noticed it the night they met. At the time it wasn't so faded. Aside from being pink and puckered, it was mostly healed. When he commented on it, Lucy wouldn't tell him when or how she got it. Merely divulged that it was a bittersweet memory, one that sparked the start of something far too precious to jeopardize altering. That in due time he'd understand.

“You missed.” Lucy grumbled out her annoyance, breaking him out of his inner musings.

Flynn smirked against her skin. “Wyatt looks terrible with a beard.” he mentions as a form of deflection. Placing another kiss to her temple. “And judging by the attitude, it's safe to assume he maintains the status of consistent pain in the ass.”

Her nose nudges against the underside of his chin. “Yes. Yes he does.” Gently she nips the spot her nose touched, whispering. “Can you kiss me now or are you going to keep dragging it out?”

Flynn skimmed his lips airily over her cheek bone, brushing the tip of his nose over hers. Hovered his mouth so close- every puff of unsteady breath tickled at his lips. Lucy tried to meet him the rest of the way, rising on her toes and angling her head. Both of her arms coming to rest on his shoulders, one sly hand tugging at his hair.

When Lucy makes her move, he turns away, dodging swiftly; her mouth landing at the corner of his.

“If I kiss you right now, I probably won't be able to stop.” Flynn sighs.

Lucy answers with a drawn out groan that resembled a growl more than anything. _It was adorable-_ in a different situation it may have even been humorous.

This however, wasn't the proper situation. A quick assessment of her told him she was not in the mood for laughter, teasing, or anything of the sort. Her pupils were dilated. A rose tint barely visible under the soot that covered her cheeks. She was consumed in desire; Flynn could bet his own face probably mirrored the exact sentiment.

_“Garcia-mother-fucking-Fl,-”_

He bit at his lip and smiled, heart constraining inside his chest. Mind already made- _who was he to ever deny Lucy of the things she wanted..._

Flynn quickly turned and closed the minuscule distance, capturing her lips, muffling his last name before it could spill out completely. His palm slid from her jaw and into her hair, curling his fingers, mildly scratching against her scalp before tangling them and tugging no less gently than she did to him.

She whimpers against his mouth.

A hand falling down the plane of his chest and grabbing at the center of his sweater. Dragging him closer. An absolutely terribly misguided action- she loses her footing in her backward step or thought there was a lot less space between them and the door...

She hisses into his mouth as her back hit the hard surface with a lot more force than intended, it's unexpectedly rough. His own body fell into hers from the movement. He answers her hiss with a grunt of his own; as a ricochet of pain courses through his arm and chest- _his stupid, immobile, dreadfully useless arm-_

Flynn has been envisioning this moment for so damn long _(Years, it's been years...)_. One hand wasn't nearly enough, he wanted to touch her so badly.

Ever since that pivotal night at the bar, she had captivated his subconscious. When his grief gave him a break. When the nightmares quieted, granting him some form of mercy, some kind of distraction- one that didn't cause him to wake up wheezing and whining interspersed with violent trembling.

It was her that filled his fantasies. Always her. At first she was just the mysterious lady from São Paulo that was gone from his life just as quickly as she arrived. Then after reading the things she wrote him in her journal- that woman in the dingy bar promising him the unbelievable faded away and reshaped into Lucy Preston.

This incredibly impressive, fearless, and (excessively) selfless woman.

She understood him. Empathized with him.

Lucy Preston.

The woman who gave him hope when he was beyond the brink of falling apart. The one who gave him something to believe in, to fight for. Ripped him out of the depths of his own personal darkness and forced him to take his first few steps back toward the light of the living. Flynn had a purpose, because of her. He will never be able to give her back what she gave him; but that would never stop him from trying.

Then he met _Lucy_ for the first time and his world crumpled at her feet once again. This _new_ Lucy had no idea who he was or what she did for him. They were strangers, essentially enemies. And instead of his preconceived belief of them being on the same team, of doing all of this side by side- he was completely alone, and not only that, he hurt her, becoming the person that erased her sister and ruined her life.

He behaved every bit of a monster she believed him to be, recklessly tearing through history. Yet, regardless of his inexcusable actions toward her; Lucy never feared him after their initial meeting under the flames of the Hindenburg. Oddly, she had some credence that he wouldn't actually _willingly_ harm her.

_Of course he wouldn't. Even Karl began wearing a face of silent disappointment whenever he was placed in the middle of Lucy and Flynn. Quickly learning that Flynn's threats toward her were empty... and if he dared so much as to lay a finger on her Flynn would kill him._

She trusted him now of course. And while there was no real way to label their current relationship, it had developed naturally and unequivocally. They could anticipate the unspoken needs of each other with fluidity. There was some kind of effortless compatibility between them. Already reaching a level of emotional intimacy in such a remarkably short amount of time.

Lucy had no idea how much control she had. Flynn was going to follow her wherever she willed him. In her own time. In whatever role she wanted him to fill. But right now he felt like he was skipping several steps. His two versions of Lucy were two sides of the same coin, at two very different personal stages with him, emotionally and physically.

To the present he was a friend, confidant, her reliable support.

While with the future her; he didn't know the full extent, and definitely momentarily had an inkling of doubt once she arrived with future Wyatt and not future _him_ -

And, while he still had uncertainty of who he was to her in the future, they were without question intimate in the timeline she just came from...

Lucy arches her hips, grinding against his thigh that was placed between her legs. “Come back to me.” She pleaded, caressing his cheek.

_He hardly realized that they stopped kissing._

She moans rather loudly when he recaptures her mouth, the vibration transferring from her chest to his, making his pulse quicken. He parts his lips, coaxing his tongue over hers, and deepening the kiss further.

Progressively their kisses grew more fevered, more urgent. Her hands were all over him. Mindful of his wound, but tenacious in their pursuits.

He pulls away from her mouth when her icy fingertips slip under the hem of his sweater. Sucking in a breath as his stomach muscles began contracting under her touch. She scratches at his skin on his lower abdomen; as her mouth touched the patch of exposed skin at his neck, peppering it in hot open mouthed kisses. Nipping briefly before suckling over the marks. He never would have assumed Lucy used this much teeth.

Both of their chests were heaving in erratic rhythms. It took every ounce of his self-control to stop; to not bend back down and kiss her until their lips were raw and swollen. This was getting completely out of hand far too quickly.

“Lucy,” he panted out her name.

As her hands were growing increasingly more bold, roaming lower and lower- his nails bite into the flesh of his palm as his right hand curled into a fist inside the sling. Desperate to draw his attention away from what she was doing to him.

Flynn could only resist so much.

“I know.” the words vibrated at the hollow of his throat, straightaway her hands stilled, leaving a yearning trail in their path as she slipped them out from under his clothing.

Her arms came to wrap over his shoulders again, one of her fingers twirling the hair at the nape of his neck. “You advised me...” she began, but stopped herself.

Flynn was able to see the inner battle play out beyond the cloud of lust that bewitched her. They both knew she shouldn't mention anything from the future. This seemed to always be a deep conflict she had to battle when it came to him. After about a minute of tensioned silence she pushes on with her frame of thought anyway.

“You advised me to go easy on you, to not take it to heart when you reject me.”

“You being here, it's a lot to process. I am certainly _not rejecting you_. That was a poor choice of wording on his part. It's just,-” He inhales sharply, hooking his finger under her chin and luring her attention back up to him. “ _This Lucy_ , doesn't know, or at least whatever it is she suspects hasn't been confirmed, and if she hears... anything... I can't,- I won't do that to her. That is not how I want her to find out.”

 _A lot to process_ was one hell of an understatement. At this point, Flynn was basically experiencing emotional whiplash.

Hours ago he was lifting Lucy off a dusty alley in 1888, cradling her as she sobbed and tore his heart clean out of his chest; all the pain she exuded seeping into him.

Only to return and stumble upon whatever was happening between her and Wyatt.

Patience was something he could easily provide her. Though Flynn would be lying if he didn't admit that it hurt to see them together. Considering all he put her through, her turning to Wyatt for solace, was a bitter pill to swallow. He understood of course. Rufus was their best friend, there was mutual mourning between them. If Wyatt could supply her peace and comfort; Flynn wouldn't hesitate, he'd walk away.

But he didn't even have time to come to terms with seeing them rekindling things. Definitely didn't have enough time to place his heart back in solitary. Before being thrust into a situation where a future version of Lucy was actively trying to seduce him.

His mind and body didn't know how to react, all the constant highs and lows were leaving him dizzy. It was like one of those wild dreams that kept changing pace and conditions before he could catch up or fully absorb and adapt to what was actually happening. He half expected to wake up at any moment.

_If it is a dream, Flynn's going to wake up in his bunker alone, and he's bound to be extremely frustrated..._

She runs her fingers through his hair, brushing it off his forehead. A beatific smile lighting up her face. “You think too much, do you know that?”

“I've been told.” He turns his head into her touch. Following the path of her fingers and sighing, his body was in pain, but his soul felt so gruntled.

“I don't miss this bunker.” She mentions wiggling against the door and his leg.

He shifts back, removing his knee so she wasn't pinned between him and the door. Flynn grabbed at her wrist before it could disappear into his hair again, placing a kiss to her palm, then intertwining their fingers.

“I definitely don't miss that bed.”

“How long before we move locations?”

“Few weeks. Maybe a month.” She swallows around the lump in her throat before she rises on her toes again, chastely kissing his lips. “I want you to know, that what you saw, in the hallway, it's not what you think. Just... keep doing what you're doing.”

Flynn squeezed her hand lightly, winking and pulling her toward the bed. “Let's try to get some sleep, but _only sleep_. Alright?”

“First we're gonna take that turtleneck off, because I want to check your wound. Anything else that follows... I can't make promises I have no intention of keeping.” There was a mischievous sparkle that set to her eyes. “I can also assure you, Lucy isn't going to find out about us tonight. If anything, she'll drum up wild assumptions of what happened, and oh boy, does she fantasize some things. Breakfast will be- awkward. To say the least.”

“Is that so?” he chuckled.

-x-

_Wyatt Logan had zero plans on going to sleep. He felt trapped in a hallucination, on the outside looking in on some fictional figment of himself. It was infuriating and confusing, and he hated every minute of it._

The future version of himself helped separate the two beds once he finished with Jiya and Connor; returning their bunker back to the original layout before Jessica moved in.

He didn't say much, only directed an occasional scowl toward him whenever their stares would catch. Wyatt couldn't understand why. Even now as the _other_ him was sitting down, pulling at the laces of his mud stained boots, grumbling incoherently, as if he was arguing in his head but the words were accidentally falling out in a jumbled gibberish mess.

“So are Flynn and Lucy a... thing in the future?” He brings himself to ask, because the curiosity was eating at him and he'd do anything to stop Wyatt from talking to himself.

After Flynn and future Lucy disappeared from the group and into his room, they never reemerged. No one knew exactly how to handle that. They mostly sat in the commons and tried to dismiss the intimacy both of them displayed.

Lucy kept staring down the corridors, appearing to be in self-denial, more than a little intrigued, and he swore he also saw tinges of jealousy tease at her expressions when she grew completely lost in thought. When they all finally retired for the night he catches her pausing at Flynn's door.

Quietly listening.

However there was nothing to hear. No unintelligible conversations, no laughter, no _other_ noises that would suggest less innocent happenings occurring beyond the door. Absolutely nothing but dead silence.

_Perhaps that's why he was so... upset._

It's disturbing. The laugh that escapes future Wyatt, it's dry and disbelieving- shaking his head as he began to peel off his soiled shirt. “Let me make one thing very clear to you, being here... on this end, is horrendous.”

Bending forward he drags the basket at the foot of his bed toward him. There were new scars that dispersed across his body. A lot more scars than Wyatt had now. “It has absolutely nothing to do with Flynn and Lucy. It has everything to do with you.”

 _Jessica must have done laundry,_ Wyatt thought as the other one shifted through his clean clothing. _Best not to think of Jessica..._ he reminded himself.

“Hindsight is twenty-twenty right?” future Wyatt sighed, placing a shirt on the bed and continuing to find other pieces of laundry, creating a stack on the bed.

“What do you mean?” he questioned.

“It means, you're in a shitty predicament. Later when you look back on these last few months, after everything finally settles, you'll see how much of an actual asshole you were.” Wyatt stood and walked to the hook that held their towels, he grabs Jessica's and then the pile of clothes.

“Wake up Wyatt. Do you honestly, even if you can only admit it to yourself- think you deserve Lucy? After everything, after all you've put her through since Jess arrived?” He was seething now, gesturing to the bag of toiletries on the shelf close to Wyatt. Which he tossed over to him with a little more force than necessary. His other self gave him a crooked grin.

“I regret asking.” Wyatt muttered as he watched himself go toward the door. 

“Who you are now, is someone I never want to be again. I know I shouldn't have this conversation with you Wyatt. But I always struggled when it came to following the rules.” He turned back to face him, his face suddenly soft, his eyes full of sorrow. It was more alarming than when he was angry. “Especially when the chance to change the outcome comes without real consequence.”

He scratched at his beard, contemplating his next words carefully. His jaw clenched. Chest puffing out before he expelled a deep breath. Shoulders sagging on the exhale. “Later, I _am_ going to give you a courtesy. One that I wasn't granted on my own timeline when I was in your position. And I am going to answer your question. Yes they are a _thing_. If there is one thing you should learn about Garcia Flynn and Lucy Preston- they're always gravitating toward each other, they're, I guess, magnetized.”

“Magnetized?”

“Call it fate, destiny... whatever you wish. The end is always the same, they're meant to be together.” He walks over to him and Wyatt is too startled to move or flinch away once his hand cups over his shoulder, squeezing it gently. “Just, let her go man. I wish I would have payed more attention to her feelings when I was in your position. I wish I would have put her first for once. Lucy deserves happiness more than anyone and to put it plainly. It isn't us.”

“And you're telling me, Garcia Flynn, makes her happy? I can't understand how that can possibly be true.” Wyatt sneered. Tugging his shoulder out from under his grip.

“You really don't need to understand it. He's good to her, they love each other, that's all that matters.”

“And what about me? I just have to put my own feelings aside? For this future? A future that might not even be the same in _this timeline_.” he ushered under his breath, as the light began to drift from the room, Wyatt pausing in the frame of the door.

“It's even more pathetic hearing myself ask those questions, and I knew it was coming.” future Wyatt complained with a finality to his tone.

The conversation was officially over and wouldn't resume. He silenced the rest of his thoughts in fear that even if he didn't speak them aloud, future him would comment on them anyway.

As Wyatt laid in bed that night, struggling to sleep with all the guilt raking across his skin. He listened to his older self as he tossed and turned restlessly; mumbling things in his sleep, things that sounded like names or hopeless pleas. He tried to decipher them, all the little indistinct phrases. If only to distract himself from his own torment, but nothing was clear enough to understand.

It didn't matter, because he's convinced that there was no distraction that was capable of muting the words of wisdom Wyatt bestowed upon him a few hours ago, it played on an inexhaustible loop.

Wyatt knew it was true. He didn't deserve Lucy. He hardly deserved Jessica.

-x-

He manages to get maybe four full hours of actual sleep before he gradually rose out of a nightmare, awareness slowly taking hold of consciousness. Breathing deep and even, gently shuffling air through his nose to calm his rapidly beating heart.

The events of Chinatown lived so vividly in his subconscious. Jiya's cries of despair and sheer anguish. Rufus' petrified stare, the warm tacky feeling of his blood on Wyatt's hands. _Jessica... Jessica holding him at gun point. Jessica running off with Emma whilst being pregnant with their baby._

He tossed the blanket off himself, swinging his legs off the edge of his bed, releasing a hiss as the chill of floor touches his bare feet. Wyatt sat, wiping the back of his hand over the beads of sweat that formed over his forehead. Considering his next move.

He wasn't a light sleeper. Never was, and less so after his service in the army. He observed to sounds of slumber expelling out of the future him. _At least he was getting some sleep..._

Slipping off the edge of the bed slowly to avoid any creaking, padding around the room, heel rolling to toe,

_quiet, quiet, quiet-_

Wyatt knew that if he made any sort of noise it would wake him. However, he couldn't stand being here any longer. Couldn't stare into this circus mirror reality any more than he already has.

He was thankful that they didn't lock the door, there wouldn't be any screeching of rusty mechanics sliding against each other. He held his breath deep in his lungs, bracing his palm near the frame and pulling slow. His stomach drops as it gave with only a minimal amount of noise. Without glancing at him, simply from the change in the breathing pattern he knew that he had alerted older Wyatt, despite his efforts, and he was now awake.

Wyatt looks over at him, waiting for some witty remark. Some comment to sway him not to pursue whatever it was he was going to. None of it came; he remained feigning sleep, a hint of a frown shadowed upon his other self's lips. Or perhaps it was his own mind playing tricks on him. It could have easily been his own feelings projecting and creating imagery that didn't exist.

Wyatt feels the slow burning of wrath as it flushed heat throughout him, his fist clenching down at his side. Who was he to judge him? Were they not the same person? Didn't he do this very same thing five years previously... _maybe this is the courtesy, maybe in his timeline, his Wyatt stopped him..._

Hastily he grabs a towel and drapes it over his shoulder. Snatches his bag of toiletries. Slamming the door behind him less than delicately.

-x-

The fans kicking on for the morning cycle drown out his feet as he moves through the bunker. He expected the bunker to be lifeless- considering it was scarcely four in the morning- but the closer he got to the bathroom the faint wafts of soap he picked up from outside the main corridor became more defined. And as he rounded the corner that lead to the bathroom, remnants of steam escaped from the crack in the barely closed door.

He felt sluggish as he dragged his feet toward it; sounds of laughter and hushed voices echoed out. The water running wasn't enough to keep their conversation subdued; be that as it may, whatever was being discussed, they wanted it to remain private, considering they weren't speaking in English.

In spite of everything that told him not to. All that inner squabble that said to turn around and go somewhere else- somewhere far far away. All the reasoning that; _This is incredibly wrong_. How, _it was the utmost invasion of privacy..._ he silenced it. Pushing in closer and peeking inside.

Flynn had a towel wrapped loose on his hips. His chest bare and his arm secured inside its sling. Water dripped onto his shoulders from his slicked back hair. Lucy's dewy skin creating wet patches in Flynn's shirt that she wore. It was unmistakable, they'd just showered together.

Wyatt swallowed, the thunderous beats of his pulse pounding in his ears. Part of him was aching to leave- the other more persuasive part was forcing him to stay.

Flynn assists her as best as he could with one hand as she perched atop the edge of the sinks. Her legs part and he took the place between them. His free hand holding steady at her hip keeping her balanced.

He watches Flynn ask her something before releasing her hip and reaching behind her to grab the can of shaving cream that was on the ledge. She replies back and it causes Flynn's body to grow tense, his shoulders arching back, the muscle in his jaw twitched. He whispered his response and she smirked, holding her palms open and giggling as he sprayed an overly generous amount inside them.

For a passing minute Wyatt thought they knew he was there. That Flynn would say something snarky and embarrass him. But they made no move to address him. They were completely lost in each other.

_For now his secret was safe._

Lucy grins as she works the lather between her hands. Continuing to speak in what he now knew was Croatian. Having heard Flynn mutter what Wyatt had never doubted were insults directed toward him whenever he annoyed him around the bunker or on missions.

He also knew that Lucy didn't speak Croatian. So she learns, purely for him.

Wyatt was filled with envy. Extreme, all encompassing envy. He's almost overtaken with it. Tempted to burst through the door and,- _and what? Let them know you were watching this entire time? Disrupt a private moment you had no right to be witnessing?_

 _Garcia Flynn makes her happy, let her go..._ his mind threw into the mix- in a voice that was his own but _not_ his own.

Lucy now had his face lathered- tilting his chin with the tips of her fingers at the proper angles as she carefully slid the blade over his cheeks and neck. It was natural, domestic, and it definitely wasn't the first time she'd done this for him. _Well, for future Flynn at least._

Wyatt continued standing there because his legs were practically cemented now. He was far gone, long past the edge of no return.

He could see it. The tender way she finished shaving him. Lifting a hand towel that was draped beside her on the edge of an adjacent sink; cleaning the excess spots of shaving cream off. Lucy says something that causes Flynn to laugh, licking his lips, before grinning sheepishly at her, and it sounds and looks so foreign to Wyatt, he's never seen Flynn look so... content.

Flynn leans forward and begins kissing her softly. There's a clang of plastic hitting the tile as she drops what's in her hands. Freeing herself to touch him. To frame his face and caress over his smooth cheeks.

That was enough confirmation. Everything he'd been told. There was no way to negate it, not after what he just witnessed.

_Complete voyeurism wasn't something he was going to walk into tonight. He'd never be able to look at the two (three) of them in the face once they all joined him in the commons come morning..._

He turns on his heel and leaves them to... _whatever_... was going to follow. There's a noise that bounces off the walls as he's heading toward the commons. It could have been a content sigh, it could have been a soft moan. All it served was to continuously make him uncomfortable, in more ways than one.

It's impossible not to hear them. Rufus wasn't kidding about the lacking of soundproofing.

Knowing full well how often she was exposed to his own... _activities..._ how she looked when she overheard him joking that one morning with Rufus. The faked happiness, how selfless she remained during all of her suffering. He felt suffocated in his own self-reproach. No wonder older Wyatt was disgusted in him. It was hard not to be.

He turned the television on and upped the volume, as a door slams shut that could have been to the bathroom or to Flynn's room. Either way he could no longer hear them.

He was left alone on the couch in their makeshift living room, mindlessly lost in his own thoughts, staring emptily at the television screen. It's a long time before the rage, envy, and not so slight longing dissipated. Future Wyatt (as annoying as he was) was one hundred percent right. He had to let Lucy go. Sooner rather than later.

He needed to put her first, after months of putting her second. It was the very least he could do.

He'd apologize in the morning if he's given the chance. To both versions of Lucy; and perhaps he'd even apologize to his older self. Wondering if maybe his future self could tell him if Jessica was still in their life... if they had their baby. If it was happy and healthy. Part of him reasoned that Wyatt would never be able to tell him that. That they'd have to wait and see what the future held for them.

Even if he knew now what it held for Lucy.

He still couldn't wrap his mind around what he just saw. Like Wyatt said, maybe he's not meant to understand it. He could blatantly see how happy they were though.

 _Happy_ is probably underplaying what they were if he's completely honest; but he couldn't quite think of a proper word to fully describe what it was.

But, _God, Garcia Flynn_ was a person he's not sure he could ever stop loathing. _Let her go..._ the voice offered again.

He shook his head, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, cradling his head in his hands. Knowing that a part of him will always love Lucy. He did love her... and sometimes love means saying goodbye. Walking away and letting the other person move on to something better- something Wyatt couldn't offer her. Not with the mess his life has become, not when he (also) loved his wife; and certainly not when that wife was expecting his baby. He abandoned Jessica once, he wasn't going to do it again. It was unfair to Lucy, unfair to them both. He had to make a decision; or so it seems his future self offered to make it for him.

It was a worthy sacrifice if it meant Flynn would unburden some of her pain; giving her blissful moments like this morning in their otherwise complicated and dismal lives.

Who knows, maybe in time his feelings for Flynn would change too.

All Wyatt could do is wait.

_FIN._


End file.
